Nine Mornings
by Marauder
Summary: Based off E. M. Forster's novel Maurice. Nine mornings, throughout the years, in the lives of Maurice, Alec, and Clive. Rating will increase.
1. Default Chapter

**The First Morning: Maurice and George**

**Rated G**

Kitty had been cross ever since earlier that morning, when her mother had inadvertently yanked at a tangle in her hair, causing a frustrated howl and no end of tears; when Ada arrived with her she gave Maurice a sour look. "I only want to play if you'll let me be 'it' first."

"Fine, go on then," said Maurice. He had no desire to be 'it', as he and George had spent the better part of an hour the day before making a new hiding place which they were eager to try out. George now shot a nervous grin at him. "You remember the rules, don't you, Kitty?"

"Of _course_ I remember the rules," she said.

"You must turn your back to face the apple tree and count to twenty-five."

"I know, I told you I know."

Maurice took no notice of this, and continued with the superior attitude of one who knows there is little others can do to stop him. "Howell doesn't want anyone to hide in the shed."

Kitty scowled. She was the one who had led to the institution of that particular rule, when one day about two months ago she had made to hide under Howell's workbench and had knocked over four whole trays of seedlings.

"She knows, Morrie," said Ada, who was anxious to get on with the game. "Now turn your back, Kitty."

Kitty did so and began to count in a petulant little voice. "One…two…"

"Come on," said Maurice. He grabbed George's hand and the two of them ran off in the direction of the shed.

Both of them thought their new hiding place rather clever, for it was not in the shed, but in the woodstacks leaned up against its side. They had pushed the wood forward so that a space of about one foot lay between it and the shed, and working from that space they had constructed a very small fort amidst the logs.

"You first," said Maurice, and George quickly slid into the space and disappeared into the fort. Kitty's voice reached nineteen; Maurice followed George and ducked his head down.

"Ow!"

"George! I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

The boy shook his blond head as much as their limited space permitted. "I'm fine, Master Maurice," he whispered. "And from what I can hear I think Miss Kitty 'as gone to the other side of the 'ouse."

They looked at each other and tried to stifle their giggles, George having better success than Maurice. There was pervasive smell of damp wood but Maurice found he did not mind; he wondered if this was how it felt to be a mole at home in its burrow. "I bet you Kitty finds Ada before she finds us," he whispered back to George. "I bet you five marbles."

He felt George tense up beside him. "Naw, I can't be doin' that, Master Maurice."

Maurice was quite sure he was going to win and therefore pressed the matter. "Yes you can. You've got about as many marbles as I do."

"And what if I was to win five of yours?"

"Why, then you'll have five of mine. Only not any of the new cats-eyes."

George shook his head; Maurice felt soft and slightly sweat-dampened hair brush against his cheek. "Your dad as gave you those marbles wouldn't like it."

Maurice thought otherwise. He had said he would give George five marbles should George win the bet, and his father had always told him that a gentleman keeps his word. But he heard what sounded like Kitty's footsteps, and gestured for George to keep quiet.

They crouched together, barely breathing, as the sound of treading feet came closer to the woodstacks. From one of the chinks between the logs Maurice saw the hem of Kitty's pinafore. No one was with her. She had not found Ada yet.

After a few moments the footsteps faded and Maurice could no longer see any sign of her. It was useless to discuss the matter of George and the marbles any further, he was going to give them to George should George win them as he had said he would.

"Howell says you're the one who takes care of the yellow tulips underneath my window," he said now.

"He's right, Master Maurice."

"I like them. I think they're much better looking than the little white flowers that were there last – "

A sudden beam of light hit him squarely in the eyes as the log above his head was lifted. "I've found you!" Kitty squealed. "Ha, I've found you! I thought I'd never find you, I've been looking and looking but I can't find Ada – Ada, come out, I'm not going to look for you anymore."

"Wait a minute," Maurice protested, "you have to find Ada, it's the rules."

But Ada was already running across the garden, coming from some hiding place on the western side of the house. "The woodstacks! I thought they might be going to hide in the woodstacks, I saw them playing around with them yesterday."

Maurice moved a few more logs and climbed out of the fort, George following. "We weren't playing," he said haughtily. "We were making a fort."

"I say that's playing," said Kitty. "It isn't as though you were men making a real fort."

"We were making a fort," Maurice repeated, "and as I've bet George about who you would find first, I've got to give him five marbles now."

It pleased Kitty, hearing that her brother had lost a bet, and she let the matter drop, but George was not so quick to do so. "Master Maurice, I can't have you giving me – "

"You can!" Maurice insisted. He took his bag of marbles out from his pocket and thrust it forward. "Any five but the new cats-eyes."

"I couldn't – "

However Maurice had grown bored with this arguing, and the time spent immobile between the logs had made him restless. Dropping the bag of marbles at his feet, he leapt at George and knocked him to the ground. "You could!" he shouted, grabbing for George's ribs. George let out a small scream of protest and tried instinctively to shove him away. "You could, I want you to!"

"Morrie, you ought to stop, before you get dirt on those trousers and Mother – "

"Pin him, George!" cried Kitty, interrupting Ada's objections.

They fell onto their sides now, kicking and grappling with each other, George's fingers now tickling Maurice's ribs in retaliation. "Stop…stop!" Maurice said, but there was a look of wild joy in his eyes, and when he looked at George he saw that his friend felt the same. They lunged at each other once more, Maurice gasping for breath, and just as –

"Morrie!"

He rolled away from George and onto his back. His mother was standing to one side of the shed, annoyed.

"Morrie, those trousers have had to be mended once already!"

"We're only playing about, Mummie."

George was the first to rise to his feet. "I meant no 'arm, Mrs 'All, really I didn't."

"You had better go and find Howell, George," she said, and he was off. "Morrie, whatever could you have been thinking…now go inside and change your clothes before lunch. If your father were here…"

"And it looked as though George was going win," Kitty sulked.

Upstairs in Maurice's bedroom, he removed his trousers, which had a streak of dirt on one knee, and his shirt, which was covered with grass stains on the back, and put on new ones. He was, now that he thought about it, quite hungry for lunch, and very thirsty. But before he could go downstairs –

From his bag of marbles he took out five – one was a new cats-eye – and opened his window. The patch of yellow tulips lay below. It would be reprehensible if he couldn't keep his word even to a servant.

_Thud, thud, thud, plink, thud_ went the marbles as he dropped them into the flowers.


	2. Chapter 2

"I've been thinking," Laurence said. "How old were you when you stopped believing in Father Christmas?"

Clive had been staring into the fire; at the sound of Laurence's voice he blinked and sat back further on the davenport. "I can't remember exactly. I know I didn't believe in him by the time I was eight years old, but I may have stopped believing a few years before that."

"I believed in him for a really extraordinary amount of time." Laurence's voice was made even softer and calmer from the wine he had been drinking. "I say, what time is it?"

"I'm not sure. It must be past midnight."

"I _know_ you aren't sure, you haven't a watch and the clock is in the next room. Why don't you _look?_"

He rose, but as he did so the chimes rang for one o'clock, and so he sat down again beside Laurence. Their thighs brushed briefly; Clive shuddered. "Don't you think Flora may be waiting up for you?"

"I can assure you she isn't. She's been rather tired lately."

Pippa too had been tired, yawning as she passed the bowl of potatoes at dinner. His mother had been ill and had had to do her Christmas shopping only two days before, coming home with her arms full of packages and the lines on her face looking deeper than they ever had before. It frightened Clive, the idea that his mother was becoming old. Months ago he would have comforted himself with the image of his mother in Heaven with God, but now it struck him for the first time that to doubt the existence of God was to doubt a life after death.

Certainly he could not imagine Laurence fading into nothingness; there was too much of a vibrancy to be destroyed. His eyes were quick and darted about, from his career to his wife to his old Oxford friends. Every letter sent was an account of rapid motion, going to the country for a week and leaving there to go abroad to France, returning from France and playing tennis with Simmons before dashing to the office and then dinner. Even now as Laurence sat beside him he examined his fingernails and tapped his foot against the carpet.

"Flora may be feeling rather tired for quite a while. Can I tell you something, old man?"

"Yes."

"You'll be the first in your branch of the family to know: Flora's in a delicate condition." Laurence grinned. "Until the middle of July, the doctor believes. Can you believe it?"

Clive could; it profoundly upset him. He did not like to imagine Laurence being intimate with his wife, nor did he like to imagine Flora growing larger and larger with child. "Congratulations."

"My father has been making noise about a grandson, but I'm personally hoping for a girl, actually, a little Flora as beautiful as her mother." He tilted back his head, closing his eyes, his long eyelashes resting against his cheek just above its flush. "Though I wouldn't mind a boy either, of course. You know, my sister Gloria's son has got your mother's eyes."

"Has he?"

"He certainly has. No one else in our family has those large amber colored-eyes but your mother and Tom. I wonder if my child could end up with your eyes."

Clive felt a distinct sensation in his chest, the feeling that had haunted him over the past years, which he had associated at times with various boys but now solely connected to Laurence. It was Laurence's eyes the baby should have, along with his strong limbs and dark curls. Surely through his children Laurence would not perish, if through no other means. Clive hoped for his immortality, and yet was disturbed by the thought of its production.

"Ever since you were quite young I've thought you had beautiful eyes. In fact when I was around your age I had a silly thought one day, that if I ever met a girl with eyes like yours I would marry her. Of course it was absurd."

"Flora's eyes are brown, aren't they?"

"Of course it was absurd," Laurence repeated.


End file.
